The comfy and the uncomfy

I hate it when I can't sleep. I toss and I turn and I turn and I toss.

Then I had the joy of sitting with some stray guy this morning who I didn't know who decided he had to tell me all about how lonely he was, like I was going to fix that for him (NOT!).

He asked if I was married and I said I was widowed and tried to go back to my book. He said he wanted to get married which instantly made me ask why and then I answered my own question by saying he wanted to someone to come home to. He agreed and started talking about cuddling, etc. I gave up and turned my book off. I tried to tell him that marriage doesn't necessarily fix the loneliness, but he wasn't buying it. I'm sure he'll find out some day, the hard way.

So what is it that makes people think I want to hear all about their problems and their issues. What is it that makes people think I'm suddenly their best buddy when, trust me, I'm not. Oh, wait, it's that whackadoodle thing, isn't it?

I met a younger woman recently who, for some reason, decided I was her substitute mother and got all excited when she saw me yesterday and came at me for a hug. (Yes, CV, I tolerated.) I really don't know her and I more than likely never will, although it was good to see yesterday that she was okay. And then there was the guy today who started unburdening himself.

I really wish someone would tell me what it is that I do so I could stop doing it. Oh, who am I kidding? I love (yikes!) talking to people. Gawd, when did that happen?

And if I tell Ms. D about it, she'll just crack up at me.

I get no sympathy.